


watermelon sugar high

by itsmyusualphannie (itsmyusualweeb)



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Banter, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Established Relationship, Fluff, Food, Hebekinesis, Humor, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Son of Hades Dan, Son of Hebe Phil, Strawberries, that tag made this fic look ominous but i promise it's not, whatever the power is where Dan can rip open the ground and hurl something to the Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22782007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmyusualweeb/pseuds/itsmyusualphannie
Summary: Dan is the son of Hades, god of the Underworld, while Phil is the son of Hebe, goddess of youth and vitality. They couldn't be more different, but somehow they're friends (and maybe a little more).
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	watermelon sugar high

**Author's Note:**

> written for emma's Percy Jackson prompt. check out her [gorgeous art here!](https://violetofthesea.tumblr.com/post/190668367776/my-moodboardart-piece-for-the)
> 
> beta'ed by the amazing [lou!](https://counting2fifteen.tumblr.com/) they are my hero for looking this over last minute!
> 
> big thanks also to my discord writing server who let me scream about this for the past few days with great patience (a special thanks to k, who bribed me to finish it in time. i look forward to what you promised) :)

It was mid-day and Phil’s neck was damp with sweat beneath the heavy rays of the sun high above. Chatter and clanging of utensils against dishes rang clear around him, the air heavy with the noise of over a hundred campers clustered around tables in the Dining Pavilion. Many of the tables were full, piled with teenagers and food, but a few of the tables around the edge of the gathering were sparsely occupied.

One table, in particular, had Phil’s attention. He watched it with one eye as he methodically made his way through the slab of roast beef, mound of mashed potatoes, and herbed vegetables piled on his plate. The table he was watching didn’t have a single occupant, though there _should_ have been one. If the tables weren’t specifically assigned, Phil had no doubt he would be sitting there.

A ruckus arose from one of the tables across the pavilion. Phil could barely see what was going on, his sight hampered by the leaping flames of the bonfire in the centre of the arranged tables, but he could tell by the various bellowing and shrill yelling that _something_ important was happening.

“We got another fuckin’ Apollo kid!” someone bellowed, and the table that was just beside Phil erupted. In a simultaneous motion, they rose and moved as a mass across the pavilion, whooping and leaping.

It was a claiming, then. Phil could see the kid now, jostled between two tall blonde-haired teens as they practically hauled him back toward the table they’d just vacated. The kid was wide-eyed in either excitement or terror, and Phil could see the bright golden laurel wreath glowing just above his head. It was an obvious symbol from his godly father, Apollo.

The kid was squeezed onto a bench at the table and immediately drawn into conversation with the others at the table, all of them his half-siblings. Phil watched them for a moment, entertained by the outgoing nature of the Apollo campers and the way they immediately drew in their newly-claimed half-brother. One of his closest friends, PJ, was an Apollo child - and there he was now, catching Phil’s gaze and waving. He had the familiar blinding grin that all of Apollo’s children seemed to claim, although unlike many of the others’ golden curls, his hair was tousled dark waves. He turned back to the new kid and joined the chatter directed at him, and Phil laughed a little before going back to his own food.

Phil’s table wasn’t nearly as crowded as the Apollo table. His godly mother, Hebe, didn’t quite have the same voracious sexual appetite that many of the major gods and goddesses seemed to have. There were less than a dozen of Phil’s half-siblings at the long table, and he wasn’t particularly close to any of them. His friends, collected through various training activities and games, were scattered around the pavilion at different tables.

There was PJ, son of Apollo, at the table right next to him; Natalie, daughter of Dionysus, a few tables away as she waved a cup of grape juice and laughed boisterously; Olly, son of Athena, navigating between his notebook and arguing with one of his siblings; and Louise, daughter of Aphrodite, fingers deep in one of her brother’s long silvery locks as she weaved his hair into a braid.

For the dozenth time since Phil had come to lunch, he looked over at the empty table at the edge of the pavilion. There was a single plate on the table, but no one ate from it. That was where Phil’s _best_ of friends usually sat, but he was noticeably absent.

Around Phil, a few campers were already climbing from their seats and heading toward the bonfire in the middle of the pavilion, so he grabbed his plate and joined them. It took only a moment to scrape his leftovers into the crackling fire, the usual ritual that offered the smell of their feast to the gods, and then he headed out. He offered a wave to Olly, who was frowning intensely as he disputed with another Athena teen but returned Phil’s gesture, and swung by the empty table to steal the plate that was sitting unattended. It was still piled high with the same meal that Phil had eaten earlier. Phil supposed he had dumped a sufficient offering from his own plate to make up for taking this other, so he hopped down the steps to the pavilion and took off across the campground.

He knew where he needed to go. There was only one place his friend would be instead of the Dining Pavilion, where he would need to sit at a table alone, surrounded by too-loud campers and conversation in which he couldn’t partake.

The sound of boisterous chatter faded behind Phil as he struck out down the dirt pathway. He gripped the plate with both hands, more than a little worried that his natural clumsiness would somehow force him to trip over nothing and lose the food. The path may be smooth, but that didn’t mean much when Phil was walking on it.

It only took him a few minutes to reach the cabins, arranged neatly in a horseshoe pattern, but Phil barely cast them a look as he hurried past. The cabins, each named after its patron god or goddess, were designed and decorated in the style of their benefactor. Phil could see the Hermes cabin, still a good distance from it, and its overflowing trinkets and accumulated trash. It wasn’t quite as full as it used to be, but there were still a lot of Hermes’ children sleeping there.

Phil was grateful that he didn’t have many siblings since his cabin wasn’t too packed, but as his gaze fell upon the Big Three cabins - Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades - he couldn’t help the pang of compassion for the few children of those gods. There were only two of Zeus’ children, both gone on missions outside the camp; one of Poseidon’s sons, who Phil hadn’t seen since last summer; and one son of Hades. Their cabins, tall and glorious, seemed to loom over the others. The Zeus cabin was bright and almost painful to look at for more than a few seconds at a time, the Poseidon cabin was elegant and arched, like a wave crashing to the shore, while the Hades cabin was dark and ominous, shadows licking around the edges.

Phil was more familiar with the Hades cabin than any of the others. That one drew his gaze more than the others, even more than his own mother’s slender, golden cabin. He wondered for a moment if his friend was hiding there instead of eating lunch, but Phil shook off the thought. He didn’t want to second-guess himself, so he continued on down the path, passing cabin after cabin and the occasional other camper who had left lunch early.

He got a brief look at The Big House, where the camp director Chiron stayed, before he passed the Forge. Billowing grey clouds were drifting from the towering smokestacks and Phil could hear the ringing clang of hammer against metal inside. The Hephaestus children were hard at work, it seemed.

Someone screamed on Phil’s right and he jumped to the side just in time to avoid a pale-haired boy sprint past, his arms churning. A red-faced girl wearing full armour and a long, slender lance in one hand thundered after him, but the metal was slowing her down. A malicious laugh floated back from the boy, clearly a son of Hermes. If Phil didn’t recognise the girl bearing down on the boy as a daughter of Athena, he would have assumed her to be one of Ares’ children, with the way her muscles coiled and amber eyes burned bright with rage.

Phil watched them hurtle down the path back toward the cabins, and then they disappeared from view around the gleaming Apollo cabin. He was used to the antics, though, and he continued on undisturbed, the plate still gripped in his hands.

Rounding the Forge, he smelled the strawberry fields before he saw them. The sweet, delicate scent surrounded him, drowning out the blunt iron and copper smell emanating from the Forge. He made his way toward them, avoiding the miscellaneous gardening supplies scattered next to the low picket fence that surrounded the fields in a sloping sprawl. It looked like the Demeter kids hadn’t finished their gardening before lunch had been called.

The rows of strawberries were long. For ease of picking, they were on tall shelves of dirt almost three feet above the ground, with deep furrows between them. Phil made his way along the side of the fence, peering down the length of each row. They stretched for what seemed like miles, bright green plants dotted with red berries.

Finally, Phil spotted the person he was hunting. A figure was sitting cross-legged a few dozen metres down one row, his dark clothes and hair blending effortlessly with the rich earth surrounding him on two sides. He was slumped, head ducked over something in his lap.

Phil let out a little cheer and swung his leg over the squat fence. Even if it _had_ been taller, it wouldn’t have made much difference, not with his impossibly long legs. He straddled it for a moment, balancing the plate with one hand, and then he was over it and trotting down the narrow pathway between the cleaved mounds of dirt. Despite their height, they barely reached his waist.

“Dan!” called Phil as he approached, but didn’t receive a reply nor an answering gaze. Huffing impatiently, he hurried a little faster. He tromped to a stop next to his friend and immediately dropped to the dirt next to him, his shoulders thumping awkwardly against the dirt walls. His hair barely brushed the stalks of the strawberry plants beside him, and now that he was amongst them, their scent was overwhelmingly cloying and saccharine. He could almost taste them on his tongue.

“Hey,” Phil prodded, nudging Dan with his elbow. “I brought you lunch.” He offered the plate.

Dan looked up, and Phil could see what he had been preoccupied with. It was a slim Nintendo DS, the dancing graphics pausing as Dan lifted his thumbs. “Thanks,” he said, his voice almost a croak. He coughed, clearing his throat. “Um,” he tried again, “yeah. Thank you.” He offered the handheld console to Phil, and they traded items. Dan clutched the still-warm plate like the most delicate of flowers, while Phil folded his fingers around the console and peered down at it.

“Mario Kart?” he asked, delighted.

Dan nodded, mouth already stuffed with a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “Mm,” he said and then rolled his eyes long-sufferingly at the pleading gaze Phil shot him. He swallowed his mouthful. “Yeah, whatever, go ahead.”

Beaming, Phil unpaused the game and began playing where Dan had left off. He only dedicated half of his attention to the gameplay, glancing up at Dan every few seconds to make sure he was eating.

Dan polished off his plate in record time. Phil would have been worried that he hadn’t eaten all day if he hadn’t seen him at the pavilion for breakfast that morning. He set the plate on the ground, the side opposite to Phil’s position beside him, and just watched Phil as his fingers sped over the controls.

“Still hungry?” Phil finally asked, pausing the game and looking from the empty plate to Dan.

Dan shrugged, which was as good as a spoken reply. Phil handed the console back and reached over his head, feeling the thick berry plants with careful fingers. The rough leaves brushed against his hands, but he didn’t stop until he closed his fingers around the distinct form of a thick berry. He withdrew them, brushing the few specks of dirt from the strawberry. It was dark red and plump, clearly ripe for picking.

Phil offered it to Dan, but Dan didn’t reach out for it. Instead, he leaned forward toward Phil, eyes dark as he parted his lips expectantly. Phil quirked a smile subconsciously, but he didn’t hesitate, placing the tip of the berry against Dan’s mouth and sliding it forward until Dan’s teeth closed down over the fruit, biting it in half. Phil held it up until Dan had swallowed that portion, then pressed it up against his lips again until he bit into that as well.

He plucked another berry without delay, briefly dusting it before holding it out again. Dan obediently ate it as he had done with the previous, lips gleaming with the juice from the ripe berries. Phil fed him another half-dozen before Dan sat back, apparently satiated.

Phil flicked away the leafy portion of the strawberry that Dan hadn’t eaten, but it flipped through the air and landed stubbornly on Dan’s jeans. The dark green was a stark contrast against Dan’s black trousers. Phil snorted a laugh. “You could use a little colour in your life,” he told Dan, who didn’t look impressed as he swiped at the discarded leaves until they fell to the packed dirt beside him.

“My outfit is an aesthetic and stylistic choice,” said Dan primly, tossing his head as though he had long, flowing locks and not tightly-wound curls and buzzed sides of his hair.

Phil eyed Dan’s black shirt with a faint shimmering skeleton outline, the tiny silver hoop in his right ear, the tight dark jeans, the black high-top shoes, and let his gaze linger as he trailed it back up to Dan’s eyes. “Sure,” he finally said, amused. “You’re not at all going with your father’s Underworld theme.”

Dan shrugged nonchalantly, picking at a root that was protruding from the dirt just beside his shoulder. “Just because Hades is my dad doesn’t mean I have to dress like this. It’s a personal choice.”

“Of course,” Phil agreed, grinning at the faux-offended, half-hearted punch Dan offered to his knee. “Ow.” He plucked another strawberry and glanced quickly at it before he lifted it to his own lips, and he was glad he did look at it. There was a shrivelled brown area near the tip of the berry. He narrowed his eyes at it. A familiar sensation made its way known deep in his chest, burning hot and spreading through his body, down his arms, to his hand. A faint glimmer manifested on his fingertips, feeling like the tiny pop-crackle from a flame, and enveloped the berry in a swarm of small flickering sparks.

The berry trembled in his grip, and then all at once, it was visibly shifting, the dark red of the berry smoothly slipping over the withered area. In an instant, it was a normal strawberry with no defects. The warm feeling withdrew from Phil’s hands, arms, shoulders, and nestled back into that small space in his chest that he rarely let loose. He surveyed the berry again, pleased at the plumpness of the skin, then popped the entire fruit in his mouth.

Dan had watched the entire procedure with a curious expression. No matter how many times he had seen Phil de-age various items, he still seemed to find it fascinating. Phil wasn’t sure why, since in his opinion, Dan’s otherworldly communication with and control of the dead seemed far more exciting than Phil’s ability to restore a few small objects to their past glory. Their individual parents’ gifts were always useful in some unique way, though.

A bell rang in the distance, the clear sound making its way even to the strawberry fields where they both hid from the rest of the camp. Dan and Phil startled in unison, then laughed at themselves. Time had gotten away from them, and they hadn’t even noticed, although that wasn’t particularly unusual.

Phil reluctantly stood, his legs almost wobbly beneath them as he grabbed the dirt row next to him for balance, and then held out a hand for Dan. Accepting the help, Dan gripped his hand and hauled himself up, tucking the Nintendo console into his back pocket. 

They both looked back down at the empty plate Dan had cleared off with disconsolate expressions, then at each other. Instantly, their hands flew up and they touched their nose, speaking in unison, “Not it!”

Dan sighed, dropping his hand. He had been a fraction too slow. “Damn it.” He eyed the plate, lying at a lopsided angle on a lump of dirt.

Phil realised what he was going to do an instant before he did it. “Dan!” he protested, but it was too late. Dan lifted a foot and stomped the ground, which split beneath the contact. A narrow, yawning chasm opened beneath Dan’s feet and stretched hungrily toward the plate. It wavered on the edge of the crevice, then gave out and toppled into it. It fell endlessly, spinning round and round into the gaping darkness in the opening. Dan tapped his foot against the ground again, considerably less aggressively, and the chasm sealed itself shut, leaving nothing out of place but a few disrupted clumps of dirt where it had been.

Phil glowered half-heartedly at Dan. “Now we’re going to have a missing plate,” he attempted to scold him. “Also, blatant misuse of your death powers.”

Dan shrugged. “No one’ll notice.” Phil noticed that he didn’t refute the “death powers” title, as he was clearly pleased by it.

“Fine,” Phil sighed. It wasn’t much point arguing further; besides, now neither of them had to haul the plate back to the dining pavilion. Maybe some skeleton or spirit deep in the Underworld would appreciate the crumbs of food still clinging to the plate. Or would they? Phil wondered if they could eat the food if they found it. Could they eat the plate?

Dan tugged Phil’s arm and he started out of his thoughts. “Huh? Oh. Ready for riding lessons?”

Sighing, Dan began trudging toward the fence, out of the row of strawberries. “You mean, ready to watch you pretend you’re not terrified of horses?”

“Hey!” Phil complained, following him. “I don’t pretend! I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone that I don’t like them.”

Dan snorted a laugh. They reached the fence and Dan went over it with an easy hop. He waited until Phil joined him, and then they began walking along the fence back toward the main area of the camp. The stables were visible from here, although barely.

Grass whispered against Phil’s ankles as he trudged alongside Dan. He stole a few glances over, but Dan noticed almost immediately.

“What?”

Phil laughed. “Nothing! I just like looking at you, that’s all.” He was gratified by the patchy blush that crawled up Dan’s jaw and cheek.

“Shut up,” he grumped, but a smile was creeping over his lips. 

Phil poked Dan’s deepest dimple and offered his own grin. “Remember when we first met? You were all quiet and sullen with your fully-black outfit and Pokémon hat. You were so annoyed when I started talking to you.”

“How could I forget? You hauled me into your friend group and forced me to get along with everyone.” Dan batted Phil’s hand away from his face, but when Phil pouted at him, he gave in and grabbed his hand to clutch between them. 

Phil swung their clenched hands between them, delighted. “They’re _our_ friends,” he rejoined. “It’s been almost five years since you showed up here as an eleven-year-old dork, you don’t exactly have plausible deniability now.”

Pretending to be disgruntled, Dan tugged at their shared grip, and Phil stumbled a little, catching himself with a laugh. “I can deny whatever I want.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so.” Phil stopped abruptly and Dan was jolted to a stop. He tugged Dan toward him until only inches were between them, and then he leaned forward to steal a kiss from Dan’s lips. He tasted like strawberries, which was to be expected.

Dan’s flush was even more prominent when Phil pulled back, licking his lips at the sweet flavour that clung to them now. “You suck,” was all Dan said, but his eyes were bright and betrayed the lie, and Phil grinned at him.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Unable to help himself, he kissed Dan again, and then settled back on his heels, satisfied. “Can’t deny _that_.”

Dan looked like he was torn between flipping off Phil or pulling him back in for another kiss. He settled for sticking his tongue out, but Phil only laughed again. He never laughed as much as he did with Dan.

Another bell chimed in the distance, the last warning before riding lessons began. They looked at each other, dark brown gaze meeting bright blue, and then, in mutual unspoken agreement, they turned and began sprinting toward the stables in the distance, hands still clasped between them.

It was mid-day and sweat clung not only to Phil’s back but also to his hand gripped in Dan’s. He couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr!](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/post/190921917850/watermelon-sugar-high)
> 
> on a scale of dream daddy to giving the people what they want, how gay was this fic?? rate it in the comments below!
> 
> please do not repost any of my works. if you are reading this story anywhere other than AO3, please let me know at [itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com](https://itsmyusualphannie.tumblr.com/) :)


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